


Empirical Research

by LandOfMistAndSecrets



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A new and burgeoning exhibitionism kink at its very inception, BEHOLD, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Gags, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Unspecified Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandOfMistAndSecrets/pseuds/LandOfMistAndSecrets
Summary: A perfectly rational and not at all horny Linhardt decides, perfectly and rationally, to employ certain methods of positive reinforcement to encourage certain desired behaviors.In the library. It's late. No one will mind.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 7
Kudos: 213
Collections: FE3H Holiday Gift Exchange





	Empirical Research

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lissa (spinningrobo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinningrobo/gifts).



Caspar found him in the library, like he usually did. His approach was never subtle; Linhardt heard him clearly from the moment he crossed into the quiet, book-lined halls, right down to the specific sound his heavy boots made as he strode across the floor. All that raucous stomping, Linhardt thought, while the corner of his mouth turned up in traitorous glee. Really. This was a library, Caspar. 

Of course, it was also very late, and what few others there were propped up on their arms at the tables at this hour had evidently grown used to Caspar’s nightly ritual of coming to collect him, because none of them so much as spared them a second glance.

Not even when Caspar clapped a hand on Linhardt’s shoulder, leaned in, and gave him a very much _not_ library friendly sort of greeting. 

“Hey, Linhardt!” he called, as he so often did, practically shouting in his ear. Even knowing it was coming, Linhardt startled in place and nearly went wheeling backward off the bench. Caspar’s hand on his shoulder steadied him, the only thing between him and an ignoble re-acquaintance with the floorboards. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Caspar went on, utterly and blissfully unaware of the impropriety of his tone and volume. Someone coughed. Papers shuffled. Linhardt twisted his head around to look up at him, grimacing. 

“ _Caspar,_ ” he complained, in a hushed, disapproving whisper. “You really must learn to moderate your volume. This is a library, you know.” 

Caspar blinked, frowned, and let his hand slide off Linhardt’s shoulder so that he could crook his arm at his hip, instead. “Fine,” he said, in a whisper. It was still far too loud, granted, but Linardt was used to progress with Caspar being, well, incremental. “Well? Do you?” 

Now it was Linhardt’s turn to blink. “Do I what?” 

Caspar made a great show of rolling his eyes. “Have any idea what time it is,” he said, and vaguely, Linhardt recalled him asking the question, before. He snorted. 

“I thought that was rhetorical,” he complained. “You know I don’t. When do I ever?” 

“Late,” Caspar said, crossing his arms. “Very, very late.” 

Linhardt smirked at him, and made a great show of raising his arms over his head, one by one and then both together, stretching languorously. “So?” he shrugged, gesturing to indicate the books he head spread out over the table before him. “As you can see, I’m very busy. Time waits for no man, Caspar.” 

“Well, neither do I,” Caspar said, like it was the most reasonable response in the world, and then he bent and pulled and lifted Linhardt right off the bench. Linhardt made a truly embarrassing sound, half a yelp and half a gasp, and then he slung one arm hastily around Caspar’s neck and settled into the unyielding support of his arms beneath him, glaring up at his chin. 

“This is technically a form of kidnapping, you know,” he accused, glancing mournfully back at his stack of books while Caspar turned them about, heading for the door. “It’s practically criminal. I could have you arrested.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Caspar sighed, and Linhardt could see his cheeks puffed out in that ridiculous sort of grin he had. “You’ll thank me in the morning, when you wake up nice and comfortable in a proper bed, you’ll see.” 

And damn him if a flutter didn’t just go through him, at that. He hadn’t missed the missing detail, and he wasn’t about to let Caspar just get away with it, either. “A bed,” he repeated, teasing. “ _Your_ bed, I hope?” he murmured, securing his hold around his neck all the tighter as though to emphasize his meaning. He saw Caspar’s cheeks go deliciously pink, just as he had wanted. When no answer seemed forthcoming, Linhardt made a thoughtful sound and opted to continue. “And not _too_ comfortable, I hope,” he said. “You know I prefer a certain amount of discomfort, when --” 

“No!” Caspar agreed, quickly, hastening his pace as though to match the sudden expedience of his response. “I mean, I know. I mean -- you know what I mean!” 

“Well then,” Linhardt said, pleased as always that he had flustered him so thoroughly with so little effort. “Carry on, then.” 

And he did, carrying him all the way back to his room without so much as another word. 

Until they got there, at least -- and even then, Linhardt thought, they weren’t so much words as they were, hm. Noises. 

*

It had become somewhat of a routine game, Linhardt was forced to admit to himself, when he realized one night that he had been staring vacantly and uncomprehendingly at his books for nigh on a full hour, waiting impatiently for a certain someone to come tromping in through the library doors, full of exuberance and the promise of pleasurable distraction. 

Not that the routine made it any less enjoyable. Far from it. But if Caspar was going to be late, well, Linhardt thought he could do better with the extra time afforded him than simply wait there obediently on his every whim. Couldn’t he? 

So thinking, he glanced back at the doors with a thoughtful little smirk and began collecting his books, a little hurriedly, stacking them in his arms. He left his usual table entirely and uncharacteristically clean, scrubbed of his presence, and set off to return the books to the shelves. The library wasn’t particularly large or labyrinthine, but it might make Caspar think a little, having to seek him out. 

He’d nearly finished putting his things away when he heard the doors crash open, shoved thoughtlessly apart with far too much force, and his heart leapt into action, hammering a distracting beat in his chest. Hastily, and with a little pang of guilt, he shoved the remaining two volumes tucked under his arm out of place on the nearest shelf, and then he crept behind a standing row and peered between the books at the central study.

Caspar stood in the middle of the floor, hands on his his hips, looking entirely bewildered. 

“Hey,” he called, like this was the dining hall and he was about to ask someone for half their portion, “Has anyone seen Linhardt, anywhere?” 

There weren’t _many_ people there to answer, and at least one wasn’t a regular, because she glared at Caspar like she couldn’t believe his rudeness and made a little hushing sound. Poor girl. Caspar had never been quiet a day in his life. 

“That way, I think,” someone else sighed, a mousy boy whose face Linhardt recognized, though he had never bothered to learn his name. He did wave in the general right direction, though, and Linhardt glared at him through the shelf. Traitor. Was there no solidarity among scholars, anymore?

“Thanks,” Caspar beamed at him -- loudly. The girl who had shushed him sighed, the mousy boy gave her an apologetic shrug, and Caspar came clamoring toward where Linhardt was, wearing a mildly irritated expression. “Linhardt,” he called. “Jeez, are you ignoring me? I know you can hear me, if you’re here.” 

_“Hush!”_ the girl at the table growled, and then there was a thump as she presumably closed the book she’d been reading and a scrape as she pushed her chair resolutely back. “Oh, you know what? Never mind. Forget this.” 

“Sorry,” Caspar called after her, to no response. He did sound at least a little bit chagrined, at least. 

And, watching him through the books, Linhardt suddenly had a very, very bad idea. Awful, really. Extremely irresponsible. And impossibly tempting.

He grinned, turned, and retreated further into the stacks. There was hardly anyone left in the library, and -- that far alcove, there, half hidden beneath the bottom half of a stairwell -- only dry histories and dusty shelves, there. It was where Linhardt went when he grew tired of pacing and wanted a moment alone to think without having to go to all the effort of dragging himself to some other building. 

He strode into it and turned about, nodding. Someone would have to come looking for them to see them, here… and Caspar needed to learn how to moderate his volume, didn’t he? 

Perhaps some incentive would do the trick. 

“Are you hiding from me?” Caspar called, not so far off, and he actually sounded just a little bit worried. “Lin? If you really don’t want to go, just say so!” 

Ah, but he was so far off the mark, Linhardt couldn’t help but laugh. He lifted his arm and muffled the sound of it into his sleeve -- to no avail, because Caspar heard it anyway. 

“Linhardt?” he called, sounding more curious than worried, now. “Are you back here? Hey, are you laughing? Quit laughing! You think this is funny?!” He found him easily, after that, stepping around that sharp corner and into the little shelving alcove, his face all pinched up and pink with consternation. Linhardt dropped his arms and grinned at him, gesturing around. 

“Cozy, isn’t it?” he said. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Caspar replied, folding his arms over his chest, still flushed that pretty shade of pink, all the way up to the tips of his ears. “What’s with the hide and seek?” 

“I was thinking, Caspar, if you’re going to be spending so much time in libraries, from now on --” 

“I really don’t spend --”

Linhardt adopted a severe look, holding up a hand and waving him quiet. Caspar sputtered, a bit, but he stopped talking, and Linhardt stepped forward and poked him with his index finger, right in the center of his chest. 

“As I was _saying,_ since you seem to be somewhat of a nightly visitor, now, however brief your stays may be, I was thinking you really do need to learn to moderate your volume.” 

“Oh,” Caspar said, uncertainly, tilting his head. “We could always just start meeting somewhere else, you know.” 

“Why on earth would I meet you somewhere, when I know perfectly well that you’re more than willing to come to me, wherever I happen to be?” Linhardt furrowed his brow at him, genuinely at a loss. “And where I prefer to be, obviously, is right here, performing my research.” 

“Hey, now,” Caspar complained, shifting to put his hands square on his hips. “ _I_ was under the impression you liked being certain other places, too, you know. You’re gonna hurt my feelings, making implications like that.” 

Linhardt rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” he sighed. “You know I don’t mean it like that. Here. Let me tell you the rest of my idea.” He felt his lips turn up in a little half-smirk, and watched as Caspar’s face went from stubbornly pinched up to curiously upturned, instead, especially when Linhardt stepped forward and leaned in close, putting his hands on Caspar’s shoulders and his mouth up against his ear. “We’ll try positive reinforcement,” Linhardt breathed into it, dragging his hands down slowly over Caspar’s chest. “So long as you stay quiet, I’ll keep on, hm, rewarding you. How does that sound?” 

“I, uh,” Caspar practically squeaked, and Linhardt pulled back to take in his expression, eyebrows raised. 

“Well?” 

“What, what exactly do you mean, _reward,_ ” Caspar said, and Linhardt held up a finger once more, shaking his head. 

“Firstly, just to be clear, that is still far too loud.” He lowered his own voice to a whisper. “This is a public place of learning, Caspar. We don’t want to disturb anyone else.” His lips twitched. Caspar’s eyes had gone very, very wide. Linhardt saw the ball of his throat bob as he swallowed, hard. 

“I can be quiet,” he said, and finally, he managed to bring his voice down to a low, raspy whisper. 

“Hm,” Linhardt smirked at him, returning his hands to his shoulders. “...Acceptable,” he decided. “Not one bit louder, however, or I’ll have to stop. You understand?” He paused, waiting for confirmation. 

Caspar opened his mouth, and then incredibly, for once in his life, seemed to think better of speaking entirely, closed it again, and merely gave an extremely enthusiastic nod. The pink of his cheeks had darkened to an equally pleasing shade of red, now, and Linhardt thought he understood the stakes. Good. 

He let the moment spool out between them, silent and heavy… and then he dragged his hands up to cradle Caspar’s cheeks and leaned in to kiss him, just to make absolutely sure there was no ambiguity about what sorts of things he intended to reward him with, as part of this little exercise. 

Caspar made a surprised sound -- almost too loud again, already, but Linhardt decided to be merciful. When he tried to deepen it, his tongue seeking entrance against Linhardt’s lips, he let them slowly part so that he could measure the volume of Caspar’s delighted little moan as he plunged his tongue deep, like he always did. 

Too loud. Caspar’s arms tried to circle around him and pull him close, but Linhardt made a rebuking sound into his mouth and pushed him back. Caspar stumbled backward, their lips making a shockingly appealing wet sound as they parted. Linhardt stuck his finger back out at him. 

“ _Quiet,_ ” he hissed. 

Caspar flushed, shut his mouth, and nodded again. Wordlessly, he stepped forward and grabbed him by his robes, yanking him close to kiss him again. 

Well. Linhardt had intended to maintain control throughout this little experiment, but surely little indulgences wouldn’t alter the end result. 

Carefully, and while still enthusiastically reciprocating Caspar’s messy kissing, he slid his hands down to his waist, and then back up beneath his shirt, palms sliding over his skin. Caspar gasped into his mouth -- quietly enough. He was clearly making an effort. Linhardt rewarded him by letting his hands slide higher, moving his fingertips to tease over his nipples. 

“Shit,” Caspar said, in that barely adequate whisper of his. Linhardt let out a quiet, breathless little laugh. 

“Careful,” he murmured back at him, pinching hard enough to make him gasp. “You’re pushing your luck, Caspar…” 

“What if someone sees us?” Caspar whispered back at him, taking the opportunity to slide his arms around him and lean in close. “Are they gonna, like, ban you from the library? Are you sure you wanna risk it?” 

“Hush,” Linhardt warned him. “We won’t be caught -- so long as you can stay quiet.” 

“I’m not sure I can,” Caspar said, and indeed, his whispering took on a distinct whining quality, which made it ever so slightly louder. Linhardt dropped his hands and made a disapproving sound. 

“All right, then,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. Considering. “Here, then. Let’s make this easier on you.” He tilted his head. “Take off your shirt.” 

“ _What?_ ” Caspar squeaked, without even bothering to moderate his volume at all. Linhardt raised his brows at him, and Caspar shrank back, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he gasped, much quieter. “Sorry, sorry.” He was whispering, now. “I just, ah, my shirt? Linhardt --” 

“Stop _talking,_ ” Linhardt demanded, having had just about enough of _that._ He held out a hand. “Your shirt, Caspar. Take it off, and hand it here.” 

Another moment passed in shocked silence, and then Caspar moved to do as he was told, just as Linhardt had known he would. He permitted himself a little self satisfied smirk as Caspar yanked his shirt off over his head, revealing all sorts of pleasant things in the process. His muscles, for instance. Why were they so appealing? Linhard had never quite been able to quantify it, but there was no doubt at all about the way the sight of them rippling beneath his skin made his heart beat faster and his breathing more shallow. 

His thoughts were interrupted most pleasantly by Caspar obediently depositing his shirt into Linhardt’s outstretched hand, all bunched and bundled up. Linhardt smiled at him and shook it out -- quietly -- and then he made a soft considering sound, holding it up. 

“It’ll work, I think,” he murmured. 

“Work?” Caspar blurted, his blush having traveled its way along his neck and over his shoulders and halfway down his chest, Linhardt noted with no small amount of pleasure. He let out a quiet _tsk._ “Hush,” he scolded, and then he twisted the shirt into a long line of fabric, and tied it about itself so that it knotted firmly in the middle. Caspar simply watched him, mystified. “If you can’t keep quiet on your own,” Linhardt explained, holding it up, “Perhaps this will help you.” 

Caspar blinked at him, and then his eyes flew wide as understanding seemed to dawn. He held his hands up. “Hold on,” he whispered, frantically. “I don’t think that’s really necessary!” 

Linhardt hummed at him, glancing between him and the knotted up shirt, grinning. “Oh? Are you sure? Because _that_ little outburst was far too loud, and I think you know it.” He shrugged. “I suppose we could call this entire endeavor off. Not all experiments are destined to reap results, after all, though --” 

“No!” Caspar interrupted, and then he winced, glanced guiltily over his shoulder, and lowered his voice once more. “No, I don’t want that, either. I …” he made a frustrated sound, a little stitch digging in between his brows. 

Linhardt didn’t say a word. He just tossed his hair back, and gave him a questioning look, that knotted up shirt still held up in offer between them. 

“Oh, jeez,” Caspar breathed, finally, running an agitated hand through his hair. He puffed his cheeks out, glaring. “Fine. Okay. We’re gonna get caught, aren’t we?” 

“No,” Linhardt assured him, stepping close. “Open up.” 

“I’ll do it myself!” 

Linhardt tilted his head, one hand on his hip, and quirked one eyebrow in silent rebuke. 

Caspar, of course, folded easily. “ _Fine,_ ” he gasped, and then he screwed his face up into a pinched little glare, squeezed his eyes shut, and opened his mouth, all adorably hesitant. 

“Wider,” Linhardt demanded. In a whisper, of course. 

Caspar made a little despairing sound, but he did as he was told, his eyes still shut tight, like he could deny everything that was happening if only he could close them hard enough. Linhardt bit back a laugh -- he’d take it the wrong way, for sure -- and then, gently, almost lovingly, he stuffed the wadded up mass of knotted up, sweaty fabric into Caspar’s waiting mouth. 

Caspar made an affronted sound, his eyes flying open wide. Linhardt held up a warning finger, but the truth was, the makeshift gag did an admirable job, muffling his voice down to a manageable volume. 

“Can you breathe?” Linhardt asked, sweetly, adjusting the thing with one hand, laying the other on one of Caspar’s pleasantly pink cheeks. Caspar made another muffled, annoyed sound, and then, cautiously, he nodded. “Very good,” Linhardt said, cheerfully. He leaned in and kissed Caspar’s cheek. Then he pushed him backward until Caspar’s back hit the shelf, and dropped his own hands down to unlatch his belt. Caspar made another, equally muffled but entirely different sort of sound, and Linhardt smiled at him as he pulled his belt open and then worked his laces with all sorts of learned and practiced efficiency, by this point. 

He dropped to his knees. 

When he looked up, he found Caspar staring down at him like he’d never seen him before, eyes wide, face flushed, and that bunched up shirt in his mouth soaking with his own spit at the corners of his mouth. The sight was… well, it was _surprisingly_ appealing. The state of Caspar’s pants was incredibly obvious, and had been for some time, now, but at this, Linhardt felt his own pants go uncomfortably tight. 

“This isn’t a free license, you know,” he warned. “I still expect you to put in _some_ effort, moderating yourself, you understand?” 

It was funny, really, the vehemence with which Caspar nodded. 

Satisfied with that response, Linhardt licked his lips, reached into Caspar’s pants, and pulled him out. 

Immediately, Caspar groaned around the gag. Linhardt laughed, quietly, looking up at him through his lashes. 

“ _Caspar,_ ” he warned. 

The groaning stopped. Linhardt drew his hands down and around his length, squeezing experimentally, watching as Caspar’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He was practically vibrating with the effort it took him to keep quiet, and Linhardt found he liked that -- he liked that very, very much. 

“Better,” he murmured, softly, and then he fluttered his lashes and dipped his chin and rewarded him by dragging his tongue slowly over the swollen, eager head of his cock, paying special attention to that spot just on the underside that he knew drove Caspar just wild. It worked just as well as he’d known it would. He watched Caspar’s throat flutter and his eyes roll back, watched him physically hold back the noises he no doubt desperately wanted to make with all his might. 

And, really, he couldn’t help but marvel at just how damned _appealing_ it was, watching him go to all that effort. He shifted down on his knees, rocking his own hips forward, and hummed softly under his breath. 

“Very good, Caspar,” he whispered softly up at him, giving him an encouraging smile. And then he leaned forward again and took him back into his mouth, a little deeper, this time. Caspar let his head fall back, sagging back against the bookshelf. He made a muffled sound around the gag, and Linhardt paused midway through curling his tongue around his cock and made a soft, sharp rebuking sound. Caspar fell back into silence, save for the labored sound of his breathing, and Linhardt took him deeper, widening his jaw, tracing the underside of his cock with the tip of his tongue. 

This, he decided, was a great deal more interesting than just letting Caspar carry him back and take him in his bed, again. Not that he didn’t enjoy that, too. But it was fun to shock him so, even if it involved putting in a bit more work than he generally liked to commit to. His own extensive private research told him that Caspar was somewhat larger than average in this one regard, a fact he surely would have been pleased to know if Linhardt had ever bothered to tell him so, and so taking him into his mouth with any depth at all proved an interesting sort of challenge. Especially in regards to keeping his teeth well away from all that sensitive skin. And, ah, breathing. Breathing was important, too. 

He pulled off with a gasp, his own breath coming fast and hard. Caspar groaned again, and this time there was a question in it, a desperate sort of bereft sound that was clearly his way of asking through the gag whether he’d done something wrong. Linhardt laughed, quietly and breathlessly. “I just… need a moment,” Linhardt assured him, reaching around to give his ass a playful, encouraging little squeeze. Caspar jumped, startled, and made another desperate little sound, canting his hips forward, the message crystal clear. Linhardt licked his lips and nodded up at him, and with a deep, deep breath, renewed his efforts once more. Caspar’s cock throbbed against his tongue, hot and thick and hard and just a little bit noticeably moist at the very tip, beading with pleasure there in his mouth. Linhardt hummed around him, lapping up that faintly salty liquid with eager abandon, noting distantly and analytically that Caspar seemed to be responding much more quickly to this treatment than usual, for him, of late. Not near as quick as their first time, of course, which had been very quick and _very_ messy, too, but -- 

Caspar made a muffled sound that sounded suspiciously like Linhardt’s name, loud enough despite the gag that Linhardt knew he wasn’t trying to moderate himself at all. 

He pulled off. 

Caspar practically convulsed in place, a desperate whine falling out of him, his hips stuttering forward, chasing after Linhardt’s mouth. He flung one hand out to steady himself against the bookshelf, and in the process, he managed to clear nearly an entire shelf, shoving the books out so that they tumbled to the floor on the other side, one after the other, in absolutely cacophonous, practically symphonic sequence. 

They both froze, staring up at each other in mute and wide-eyed horror. 

“Linhardt?” The boy from before, the one who had pointed Caspar in this general direction. Linhardt noted with dispassionate, distant interest that he had no idea what _his_ name was, though he saw him nearly every day. “Caspar?” Was he getting closer? Coming this way? “Everything all right, back there?” 

Caspar made a thin, questioning sound, nostrils flared, spots of color high in his cheeks. 

“Everything is fine!” Linhardt called back, and if his voice was a little hoarse -- well, he thought, a little hysterically, that was only because he’d just had Caspar’s cock pressed up against the back of his throat! He only just barely fought off a wave of laughter at the sheer absurdity. “Really, no need to come checking up on us, now, just --” he choked back another laugh, somewhat less successfully. 

“You sure?” 

He was _definitely_ coming closer. 

Caspar’s hands shot forward, desperately fumbling his own erect cock back into his pants, an effort that was meant well, Linhardt supposed, though his state was still painfully obvious even with his laces pulled and his belt hastily fastened, once more. 

Also, he still had his own shirt balled up in his mouth, soaked quite thoroughly now with his own spit. 

_Also_ also, Linhardt was still frozen there on his knees in front of him, making what had been going on there fairly obvious, indeed. 

“I’m sure,” he called back, faintly, and though he was sure he meant well, he was also fairly certain that Caspar’s muffled agreement did not precisely make their state any less intriguing, so to speak. Still, the nameless boy whose name Linhardt really felt he ought to have known by now seemed to think better of coming any closer, perhaps intuiting on some level what must have been going on -- broadly speaking -- and cleared his throat. 

“Well,” he said, his voice a little high. “All right then.” 

It seemed to Linhardt that his retreating footsteps were louder than they had been approaching, like the boy was purposely stomping off to let them know in no uncertain terms that he was, in fact, retreating. 

He let out a sigh of relief. He was a bit dizzy with it, honestly. His heart was pounding right out of his chest -- 

And his cock was still definitely, undeniably hard in his pants. Caspar’s, too, he noted. 

He licked his lips. 

“Close call,” he whispered, his lips twitching into a shy little smile. Caspar nodded down at him, breathing hard, eyes wide, a thin little trickle of sweat trailing down one side of his face, just beneath his ear. “What do you think, Caspar?” he gave a performative little glance around, and then looked up with a conspiratorial flutter of his eyelashes. “Shall we press on?” 

A pause. Careful, considering hesitation. This was, perhaps, the most thought he’d ever seen Caspar give anything in his entire life. 

A slow, shallow, embarrassed, begrudging, _delightful_ little nod. 

Linhardt grinned up at him, returning his hands to his hastily refastened belt, undoing his work once more with ease. “I thought so,” he said. 

Quietly, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter: [@landofsmthsmth](https://twitter.com/landofsmthsmth)


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